Hello! I promised a timely update, and for once, I delivered. GUESS WHAT. I'VE EVEN GOT THE LAST CHAPTER WRITTEN, SO NO MORE DELAYS


Cantis

Causes the victim to burst uncontrollably into song.


Gently, she told herself. She held the scalpel neatly in her finger and carefully made an incision.

Blood leaked, she had noticed. It didn't burst out, or spurt out – it leaked, gently, almost softly. It simply appeared on cuts without much care for what they were trying to do.

She carefully continued her incision into the chest, as Malfoy continued to observe.

It was in that moment that Sherlock entered, and rather loudly. It was a testament to Molly's skill that her hand didn't slip or shake.

"Molly, I –"

"Shh, Holmes," said Molly.

Sherlock waited patiently. Molly carefully finished her incision, and turned to Sherlock. "What's up?" she asked, without looking up.

"It better not be something nonsensical, Holmes, Weasley wanted this cleared up by today," said Malfoy, attention focused on Molly's careful work.

"Why was Hernandez spending time with someone like Clara Dawson?" asked Holmes, immediately pacing around the body on the table.

"Because she was lonely and friendless," Molly deadpanned, now focusing on peeling the skin open a little.

"Beyond that," snorted Holmes.

"Because she wanted some time off from her horrible husband?"

"Don't be so prosaic, Molly. They don't fit together – they're different classes, different kinds of people, even different blood if that nonsense is something to go by."

Malfoy's expression was one that was impossibly hard to penetrate.

"Sherlock!" hissed Molly sharply, looking up from her body.

"What?" asked Holmes, oblivious.

"Behave," she said quietly.

"Oh, right," said Holmes. "Sorry."

Molly returned to the body but not before she glanced at Malfoy to see him looking shocked. It was odd for Draco to express much other than sarcasm.

"Once you're done with this, we can go have something to eat. Speedy's will be open."

"Must you do this in front of a dead body?" asked Malfoy.

"Well, the dead body is not invited, so," Molly said, grinning a little. "Besides, I need only twenty minutes to prove she was poisoned – and then I don't think she'd have much of an appetite."

And she looked up at Sherlock. On anyone else, she'd have thought he wanted to – well – to shag her, of all things. But she knew that was hardly possible, so she turned back to the body.

"Brilliant. See you in a bit," he said.

"Lab?" she asked.

"Yes."

And he was gone. Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're both perfect for each other," he said at last.

"What?" she asked. "Not this again, Draco."

"Flirting in front of me is worse than snogging."

Molly blushed a deep, undying red. "It wasn't like that!"

Draco looked at her again, in that odd assessing kind of way. He returned to his clipboard.

She sighed deeply. "It's beginning to get on my nerves, being around him," she said quietly. "I'm not being able to get over this stupid crush."

"Snog him," said Draco, without looking up from his clipboard.

"Malfoy, be serious."

"I am," said Malfoy. "Snog him. Get it over with. For me. If I wanted to give dating advice, I'd be working with Pansy Parkinson."

"Didn't you go out with her?"

"Don't remind me," said Draco darkly.

Molly's head wanted to collapse, and she nearly wanted to cry. "I don't like it any more than you do, you know," she said. "God, I wish I could do something about this – but he's everything in one minute, and then cold the next. I tried asking him out, Draco, I did – it flew over his head."

"Oh, Christ," muttered Draco, putting his clipboard away. He carefully placed her in a chair, and dropped the scalpel into the tray. "I – I apologise, Molly," he said stiffly.

Molly nodded gently.

"I think I forgot you're not actually a teenager," he said. "Why don't you come for dinner tomorrow night? Give Holmes the slip," he said.

Molly nodded again.

"Astoria will be pleased. She's been wanting to meet you."

"I've been wanting to meet her," said Molly. "God knows who saw you after the war and thought it was a good idea to marry you."

"Hilarious, Hooper," said Malfoy dryly. He turned to the potion that had been bubbling in a corner, and began dicing some fluxweed grass. "He likes you, Molly," he said quietly.

She snorted.

"I haven't actually heard Holmes apologise in all the time I've known him," added Malfoy slightly conversationally.

Molly scoffed.

"He likes you," repeated Draco. "And one of these days, you'll find out."


Molly stared at the fire. Her heart was very heavy, and a little incomprehensible. She wished she could talk to someone, but Draco Malfoy was the only one who knew her secret and the source of her problems.

Tap.

Of course, it wasn't true.

Tap.

No, it was ridiculous.

Tap, tap, tap.

"Molly, honestly, stop," said Meena. "Why the fuck are you nervous tapping? It's getting on my nerves."

"Sorry," said Molly apologetically.

"What the hell is on your mind now?" asked Meena. "Is it sex? Please say yes."

"No," said Molly.

"I have no idea why I'm friends with you. Out with it, Hooper."

"Draco – he said something weird," said Molly.

"You're now listening to Draco Malfoy?" asked Meena. "Oof. New low."

"He's not that bad, actually," said Molly. "Anyway, what is this, sixth year? We're beyond this now, Meena."

"Fine. What did the moron say?"

Molly frowned at her choice of words, but chose to ignore it. "I – well, he said Sherlock likes me."

"I thought you said this wasn't sixth year. Does Sherlock like like you, Molly?" she teased.

"Shut up. You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do. Gotta say, maybe you're not wrong about Malfoy. He seems to have some sense."

"You're not saying you think he's right!" said Molly, alarmed.

"You'd be blind not to see it, Molly," said Meena. She returned to the essays she was correcting. "Goodness, these idiots have handed in perfect trash for the third time in a row. God knows what I'm supposed to do with these second years."

Molly leaned back in her chair. "I'm meeting Draco's wife tomorrow night," she said.

"Astoria Greengrass, wasn't it?" asked Meena.

"One and the same," Molly said.

"Never knew her very well," said Meena. "She didn't seem horrible. Smart girl, from what I remember."

"Yeah," said Molly. "Draco says she established The Scryer after the war."

"Hmm," said Meena. "I like their reporting. It's a lot better than The Prophet."

"I think everyone lost faith in The Prophet during the war. I've heard even The Quibbler has picked up recently."

"Lovegood must be running that."

"Scamander, now," said Meena, shoving a pile of essays and beginning on a new one.

"I'm surprised that it isn't all naturalism," Molly said.

"I think she's given the running to someone else," said Meena. "Not sure who, though. Greengrass could help her, if they were friends."

"I think they are," said Molly. "I feel like I saw Luna in the Malfoy wedding pictures. It was a society affair, after all."

"Maybe you should ask her, then."

Molly returned to her own pile of essays. Maybe she would.


The first thing she noticed about where Malfoy was living was that it was not a manor. It was a large house, but by no means a manor. There were extensive grounds, which weren't spotlessly maintained by any stretch of the imagination and there was a small wood. She had been expecting lawn sculptures and a perfectly trimmed… well, everything. To her surprise, the lawn looked much more beautiful since it was clumsily maintained – it lent a wildness to the place that made it almost magical. It was a nice home, expensive, but comfortably furnished and tasteful. Not a single white peacock in sight.

"Um," said Molly, stepping out of the fireplace. "You have a lovely home."

"Thanks," said Malfoy. "You were expecting a manor, weren't you?"

"I'd heard quite a lot about the white peacocks in Malfoy Manor," said Molly plaintively.

Malfoy was not in his customary dark robes – instead, he was wearing jeans of all things, paired with a button down shirt, which was neatly tucked in. Molly was glad – she hadn't dressed up, she'd simply taken out one of her nicer dresses and put it on. She hadn't even bothered with robes.

Draco smiled wryly. "I couldn't quite return to that place after the war," he said. "The Dark Lord – he – well, he had used it judiciously, and it was impossible to return without experiencing severe post-traumatic stress."

"Oh," said Molly, looking at her shoes.

"This was one of the Greengrass homes – a lesser one, obviously. Astoria converted Malfoy Manor into a shelter for survivors of the war. It's currently being run as an orphanage for children. Besides, this is a – more comfortable house."

Molly could see that he was oddly surprised by this – it was clear that Draco Malfoy had spent his childhood in beautiful homes, with beautiful things and beautiful furniture – a house elf cleaning up after him, and everything in between. It must be a change to live in a comfortable home – one where the sofas sank in, or the dining table had scratches.

"I like this house," said Molly staunchly. "Never really fancied white peacocks."

Draco chuckled. "I've heard the children like those. Now come on."

Molly followed him outside the room, which seemed to have been a study. Normally, floo connections were to the living room of the house. Malfoy must have one for his private use as well, and it touched her that he had given her the private one.

As soon as they stepped out, Molly saw a carpeted corridor, with four or five doors that were presumably bedrooms. A woman with dark hair and dark eyes stepped out of one of the doors, closing it neatly behind her. This must be Astoria Greengrass.

"Molly, is it?" she asked pleasantly.

"Yeah," said Molly, extending an arm. Astoria was dressed in blue, with small white floral patterns. Once again, Molly was struck by how… comfortable they looked.

"It's really good to finally meet you," she said.

"You too," said Molly. "Malfoy told me a lot about you."

"Oddly enough, I heard a lot about you as well," said Astoria – and then, horrors of horrors, she winked. Molly must have looked taken aback, because she laughed gently. "I wasn't a very good Slytherin princess, Molly," she clarified.

"Oh. Um, how are you married to Draco again?" asked Molly, genuinely baffled.

"Let it go, Hooper," said Malfoy.

"Come, let's go downstairs. How is Scorpius doing?" asked Astoria.

"Your son is best friends with Rose Potter," Molly said. "I'm not entirely sure if he will survive his seven years in Hogwarts." They turned to the staircase, and walking downwards, Molly noticed a comfortably arranged living room – with well placed arm chairs, and a lovely fireplace. A door led to what might be the dining room, and another to what may be the drawing room.

"Hermione Granger's daughter has to be a spitfire," said Astoria.

"I told him not to get into trouble in school," grumbled Draco from behind. "Nearly had to go and speak to McGonagall last time to revoke some of his privileges."

"You filthy little hypocrite!" gasped Molly. "After everything you got up to in school."

"Molly," said Draco warningly.

Astoria was grinning at Molly. "I hope you like meatloaf."

"I love it," said Molly. "By the way, your paper has some excellent reporters."

"Thank you," said Astoria, turning to one of the doors. "I thought we could eat in the kitchen, since there's only three of us. The dining room is a little ostentatious."

Goodness. Someone from Slytherin finding something ostentatious.


"How was it?" asked Meena when she was back.

Molly took a breath as she stepped of the fireplace in her office.

"So… normal," said Molly. She popped off her shoes, and looked at Meena in perfect bewilderment. "War's really over, isn't it?" she asked softly.

Meena put down the copy of The Scryer that she was perusing. "Oddly enough, yeah. But there might be another problem coming your way."

"What could be wrong now?" asked Molly, unzipping her dress.

"You might have caused a widespread panic in the Gryffindor common rooms. Albus and Rose are wondering what you told Scorpius' parents."

"Oh dear."

"And it may have gotten out that you went, which means a lot more trouble."

"Who could possibly have a problem with me going out for dinner?"


"Molly I have to speak to you," said Sherlock from the door.

"I'm in the middle of class, Professor Holmes," hissed Molly, without abandoning the desk an inch.

"It's urgent," he said tightly.

Molly sighed. "Continue the dissection. I'll be back in a second."

She left her desk to the small office at the back of every greenhouse. "What's up?" she asked.

"Why were you out dining with Malfoy?" he sneered.

"Um – you – you aren't serious?" asked Molly.

Sherlock said nothing. Molly folded her hands, prayed to all the Gods for mercy, and continued:

"Because he invited me."

"Ah." Sherlock didn't say anything for a few seconds. "He's married."

Molly needed a few minutes to compose herself. "I'm aware."

"Affairs are frequently the root cause for murder, more often than you would think," added Sherlock pointedly.

"I know, Holmes," said Molly.

"Good," he said gruffly. "I'll see you later."

As soon as he opened the door, a dozen or so children scattered in different directions.

"Oh, Christ," muttered Molly.


She wasn't sure what the rumour mill was churning out at the moment, but she was absolutely certain it wasn't good at all. Not only were the students wondering what had happened, Sherlock was simply driving her up a wall these days.

He had taken to giving her an incredibly hard time during classes after that little episode in the greenhouses. For anyone else, this meant a few snide remarks or so. For Sherlock, on the other hand, this meant out and out cruelty – one that Molly could simply not bear.


"Excuse Professor Hooper," said Holmes darkly. "She's a little busy as of now."

The pencil in her hand snapped. She smiled sweetly at the students, who looked oddly as if they had backed up in their desks, expecting an explosion of some sort. "Yes, I'm the one who is busy – not the person who drags me into their extra work," she said in her softest, gentlest voice.

Holmes looked angry again.

"Turn to page one hundred and fifty two," said Molly. "Study this theory as of now, we don't have enough time to test it."

Holmes scoffed.

"What?" snapped Molly. "What is it? Something stupid? God forbid, I made a mistake?"

"Don't be stupid, Molly," sneered Sherlock. "If you were being stupid, I'd have told you."

"Thank you so much," said Molly sarcastically.

"Um, professor?" said James Potter in an uncharacteristically meek voice.

"What?" said Molly and Sherlock in unison.

"Um – the bell rang," he said.

"Dismissed," said Molly neatly, unaware that James Potter had played her – since there were a good fifteen minutes for the period to end.

As the students began to shuffle out, Molly balled her hands into a fist and turned to Sherlock. "Are you mad at me?" she asked.

"What?" asked Sherlock.

"Then why are you behaving this way!" she exclaimed, stepping forward.

"Anomalies in my behaviour aren't necessarily clear to me," he said crisply, and deliberately to annoy her.

"Goddammit, Holmes," said Molly, stamping her foot and stepping forward. Her eyes were raises to his, his own annoyance with her so obvious. They were too close, but too angry to notice. She was close enough to categorise the different colours that went into making his eyes, and all she could think about was how pissed off she was. "Then stop making a scene during class."

"If it's not clear enough, Hooper," he said. "You're the one making a scene."

His eyes flicked down to her lips, and almost automatically Molly looked at his lips. Her breath stopped a little, her heart began racing for reasons unknown and her stomach might have fallen through a void.

And then she did something truly terrible. Well, either she did it, or he did it – but the next thing she knew was that they were kissing.

She had thought Holmes didn't kiss much, therefore, couldn't be very good at it. She was wrong.

She could feel the pressure of his lips, as he pushed her downward – his hands cupping her head, carefully cradling her. She could hardly breathe as she felt his hands touch her on the back, balancing her neatly. His tongue flicked on the upper half of her lips, and then the whole situation went from gentle to aggressive.

Because her hands, previously twined in his hair were nearly scratching his back with some sort of desperate violence. She felt his teeth on her lips – his hands on her hips, as he lifted her onto the desk.

It was in this minute that some of Molly's common sense came back to her. She pushed herself away from Holmes – Sherlock? her mind questioned briefly. She looked up at him, at his ridiculously incomprehensible eyes.

"I'm – terribly sorry," she murmured.

She turned to leave.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I'll see you later," she said, looking back at him. "And for the record – um – Draco told me you liked me. I'm not saying he's right, but um – I, well – do you?"

"Malfoy told you, did he?" asked Holmes sardonically.

"I mean – in passing – I – I was at dinner with Astoria and him – and I – you know what, nevermind –" said Molly.

He held her wrist.

"Smart man," said Sherlock.

Molly went, if possible, even redder.

"I'll see you later," she said.

He left her wrist, and then, she might have imagined it – but she was sure he was smiling.


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